Chapter 9: Slave Trade

Berin and Glavino stow away to Akola. How will he be reunited with his loved ones? Berin is forced to make a decision he could regret, using a newly acquired possession: Aleutian's sword.

Slave Trade

Berin looked through the hole of the hull, peeking for a feature resembling land. They had been hidden in the hull of the boat for six veros, and the stench of quasi was unbearable. How Berin longed to breathe without the nauseating fruit.

“What are we going to eat and drink?” asked Glavino on the first night. Berin had not even thought of that.

“We must eat the quasi.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Berin had waited until the next morning when the sailsmen were busy above them before using a plank of wood to pry open the boxes. Though the stench was unbearable, the quasi contained enough juice for the two to only feel parched once a vero.

“What about the other end?” Glavino asked the second night. The quasi was known to release the bowels.

“I forgot it did this,” said Berin.

“I need to go!”

“Hold it in.”

Berin crept up to the deck. No one was there, as far as he could see or hear. The sea air washed over him. He breathed it in, allowing its freshness to seep into his lungs and throughout his entire body.

Spying to his adunai, he saw a bucket. It was tied to stairs leading upwards.

That will do, he thought.

Berin crept forward; one step following another, hoping in all hope no one would spy him. Quickly he untied the bucket and brought it back below.

After Glavino had finished with his business, he cried, “Better!”

“Now, what to do with the entrails.”

“Over the side of the ship?”

“I am not risking sneaking up there again.”

They waited until sunlight poked through the openings above them before inspecting their room. They found a small gap in the boards in the opposite corner.

“Where do you suppose that leads?” asked Berin.

“Know not.”

“Could we pour it down there?”

Berin poured a small amount down the hole and waited. They could tolerate the stench of both the quasi and the entrails for one more vero. They waited, ensuring no one would discover the brown entrails.

“No one saw,” said Glavino later.

“I’ll pour it tonight. Let us rest.”

 

Now, as Berin looked out of the hole in the hull, he saw another ship, with the anchor rope over the edge.

“We must be near a port!” he whispered. Glavino raised himself. He climbed over the boxes of quasi and placed his eye next to the hole. The ship rocked backwards, the hull knocking Glavino’s head. He fell onto Berin. They hit the boxes with a vibrating sound.

“Shh!”

Berin heard excited noises above the roof. They both froze.

“Hide!”

The two men hid under the large blanket. Berin’s stomach churned. The diet of quasi was getting wearisome. Footsteps came down the stairs. Glavino breathed in and held it. Berin mirrored.

We have come all this way. We cannot be found out now.

The footsteps crept closer and closer. They came around the side of the quasi boxes, near the blanket. Stopping, the man attached to the footsteps called out. Berin did not catch the words. More footsteps came down the stairs and reached the same place as the first man. The next noise was the sound of wood scraping on wood. It sounded as though the men were collecting the broken boxes and cleaning up the squashed quasi. Soon the noises dwindled as the men walked back up the stairs, leaving Berin and Glavino alone with the lap-lap of water against the hull.

“They have gone.”

“You sure?”

“We will wait.”

 

Berin woke Glavino from his sleep. Berin was not certain how Glavino could sleep under the heat of the blanket. Perhaps he did not mind the sweat dripping from all parts of his body. Berin preferred his skin to remain dry, though it was starting to sweat as well.

“I think we are close to Akola.”

Berin gasped in astonishment as Glavino sleepily collected one of the fruit in his hand, cracked open the outer shell to reveal the inner, green and brown fruit, and munched on it.

“Come, we must hurry,” said Berin. Glavino munched on the quasi more quickly. After his second quasi, he began stuffing his pockets full. Berin stopped him.

“That is not our fruit, Glavino,’ he whispered. ‘We do not want to be weighed down if we have to move quickly.”

Glavino stopped. “You do not enjoy the smell?”

“Perhaps.”

“Bah! I am used to it.” Glavino frowned, the side of his nose and cheek raised and his hands clenched. He complied and returned the fruit to its original box.

“Can you hear that?” Glavino gruffed.

Berin heard the thud of the anchor against the water as it was thrown over the side of the ship. They had to find a way off the vessel without being seen. He figured the sailsmen would be busy with the ropes and sails, so he eased up the stairs to see them all on the deck, rushing this way and that to prepare for docking. He motioned for Glavino to follow. Together, they jumped into the water, and waded onto dry land. No one saw them; no one heard their splashing in the water. They had made it to Akola.

“Finally!”

The two climbed up the side of the beach, near the dock. The area was abuzz with men, women and children running about. Each had a task, a purpose, burrowing their way through the crowd in effort to reach their goal.

“I have never been away from the Lands to the North,” said Glavino.

“You are about halfway between the Lands to the North and the Sonderya.”

“Who would have imagined? My parents would be proud.”

“Yes.”

“I made it to the famous trading port.”

“Indeed.”

The two men walked away from the dock, following the crowd towards the centre of town.

“I wonder who can help? We should find Akola rulers.”

“Rulers? I do not think anyone rules Akola. There is not government here.”

“No king?”

“No king.”

“No Council?”

“No.”

“No High Judge?”

“Not that I know. I think every man for himself is the common law on this island.”

“How does that work?”

“I know not. It seems to, though.”

Glavino had the nous to ask one of the townsfolk selling some of the local Akola nuts.

“You like living here?”

“It is fabulous. Such vibrancy,” was the reply.

“What does that word mean?” He understood not the meaning in the unique Akola trade language.

Berin interjected in Vergaran.

“Many different people full of life.”

“Fine. Berin, can we buy some nuts?”

“We have no money.”

“But I am starving.”

“I am too. We will find some food, soon.”

The trader glanced at them.

“You buy?”

“No Yui.”

“Ah, no good.”

“Sorry.”

As they turned to go, the trader beckoned them to return.

“No cost,” he said as he held a small bag of nuts. Glavino stepped back and snatched the bag.

“Thank you.”

The trader glanced again, confused at Glavino’s reaction. Glavino curled his wrist for some reason. This seemed to satisfy the trader. Berin repeated his gratefulness, though more earnestly, and hurried off. Glavino was already eating the nuts.

“Leave some for me!”

“Of course. Only going to eat some.”

The bright sun soon dried their clothes as they walked towards the major area of the port. The smells wafted through Berin’s nostrils, enticing him to pause at each stall: colourful fruits from the Orguein Islands, rich spices from Hawr, and strange-looking vegetables from some exotic tribe. He could not stop, or Glavino would too. That would create a situation, every time, he thought.

“Why so many from Qala Vali?” asked Glavino.

Berin noticed the eyes of many of the traders, thinner than those from other tribes.

“I think they seek to rid themselves of their produce before the war sets in.”

“Will they return?”

“Only if the Qala Vali win.”

“Where they go if they lose?”

“I know not. Cuha I think. Perhaps they will travel to a lonely island with their wealth and wait out the war.”

Berin wondered how they were going to find his family. Akola was as busy as bees in the early summer. There were traders from all areas of the world, even though the majority were from Qala Vali. After making it this far, Berin’s heart yearned stronger than ever for his beloved wife and their offspring.

“I just want them back,” he cried out loud. The traders nearby him glanced at him, their eyebrows narrowed together.

The two men continued through the various marketplaces.

“There is no sense remaining in the area of spices.”

“Right. I will ask.”

Glavino began pulling people aside.

“Slave area?” he asked each of them.

“Sorry.”

“Know not.”

“Cannot help.”

The fourth man said nothing, except pointed eastwards. Berin and Glavino muttered their thanks and hurried. This section was extremely busy. Both men had to sidestep to fit their bodies through the tiny gaps between the masses. The noise was as deafening as the smell - animal carcasses waiting to be sold.

They finally made it to the end of the masses; it seemed another large group were henceforth the same path as them.

“Look, Berin!”

Berin could not see beyond Glavino and the other men and women surrounding them. They continued in the direction Glavino pointed, pushing their way through the crowd. They reached a point where the crowd stood.

“No further,” said Glavino.

It sounded as though a Vergaran woman and children were being sold. Berin looked upwards as Glavino spoke.

“Up there.”

There was his wife and children on a raised stage, strung together with rope like a triplet of goats.

They are alive!

Berin’s heart fluttered. It beat strongly against his ribs. From where Berin was at the rear of the crowd that had gathered, they had something stuffed in their mouths.

Not quasi, I hope. Rini especially hates the fruit.

Their heads were lowered, chins resting against their chests. Hair splayed in all directions. Berin noticed a couple of scars on his wife’s arms and legs. He hoped they were not too painful.

Berin began planning how to retrieve his family. His mind raced around for a scheme, any scheme. None came. He should have brought a weapon to use.

I might wait a moment until an opportunity arises to grab them.

The man on the stage began speaking again, asking for a price for the ‘slaves’, or poche, as he called them.

“They are about to be bought,” said Glavino.

“We cannot allow that to happen.”

“Best deal you will get here today, gentlemen. Not only do you get one worker, not two, but three workers. The woman, she is tough…”

“You have that right,” muttered Berin, his teeth clenched. Glavino grinned.

“…and can carry great weights all vero long. She is very pretty.” The men whistled lowly, common when a man sees a beautiful woman. Berin had jokingly whistled lowly at Juolo when they first met. This time, however, he remained silent, his ears beginning to grow red.

The caller continued. “The children, though small, can give you a lifetime of service. You can train them up now, and later they will do anything for you. I will now take offers.”

“My best herbs for the children!” yelled a first.

“My best spices for the woman!” burst forth another.

“Herbs and ointment for both!” offered another still.

“I will double your herbs and ointment!” shouted the first, louder than before.

Berin thought he might run up and grab his family, but as he looked around, he noticed six men, three on either side of the stage, looking outwards into the crowd. Each carried a long sword, a Keturah sword.

I wonder if they are Keturah soldiers. Are they the same Keturah soldiers we escaped from?

Berin knew the only way to get his family, without getting himself killed, was to make an offer.

“Do we have anything?” asked Glavino.

He had lost everything he had, and now had nothing to give to win them back. Sheer pain tugged at his heart.

Surely there is a way.

The offers rose significantly. A group of three traders nearby were offering the best of their collective trades: herbs, spices, ointment, a cow, a strange, long object covered with royal-looking material, and cases of wine. Not Vergaran wine, but wine nevertheless. It seemed that was the best offer. The caller seemed pleased, and seeing there was no greater offer, knelt down and leaned over the stage, shaking the hands of the group. They were an odd mix of people, and Berin could not determine their tribal heritage. He whispered something to Glavino, who then moved closer to the group to listen. In the meantime, Berin looked for a way to retrieve his family.

Even if I cannot snatch them, the least I want to do is let them know I am here. I will do my utmost to have them returned to me.

At the rear of the now-dispersing crowd there was a figura tree, a tree not common in Akola, but one that had arose from a wayward seed. Berin climbed the tree and began waving almost his entire body at Juolo and the two children. However, as he wildly rocked back and forth, they were being led by the soldiers through a doorway and out the back section of the raised platform. Berin climbed down. He glanced to the side of the platform. There was no way to enter to the rear quickly enough. The thick crowd was eager to get away and continue trading their produce. Eventually, the crowd thinned, and Berin ran to the back of the stage, only to be stopped by one of the soldiers. The soldier placed his hand on his sword and glared, indicating to Berin he should step no further. Berin slowly stepped away, ensuring he kept his gaze at the ground.

There is no approach. I cannot save my family.

The worst thing was that his family did not know he was there. If they knew he was within spitting distance, they would have hope. Their faces on the platform resembled no sign of hope. That hope was sure to turn to despair.

Berin returned to Glavino.

“You look disheartened.”

Berin glanced at the ground, kicking the pebbles back and forth.

“That is a mighty word for you.”

“You taught me it.”

Berin returned to the matter at hand, though he foreknew Glavino’s response. “How do I get my family back?”

“Know not.”

“And the worst thing is, I know not where they are heading. How can I save them now?”

Berin looked to Glavino. Glavino had a slight smirk on his face. No, it was not a smirk, but it certainly looked unnatural, considering the situation.

“What is it, Glavino?”

The smirk turned into a wide grin. “Know where they taken your family!”

“Where?” asked Berin, so quickly Glavino stepped backwards.

“Well, taking little boy to Kiriath. Your wife to Zoar.”

Berin’s mouthed gaped wide open.

“But there is a great distance between those areas!”

“Really?”

“Yes!’ Berin was shocked. ‘They are further apart than even the distance we have travelled from Vergara to here.”

“Great distance!”

“It is! What about my daughter?”

“Know not.”

“I must find out.”

“Berin, look!”

At that moment the trader who sold Berin’s family walked out of the structure behind the platform.

“Come with me,” Berin beckoned to the trader as the two strode over. Berin wrapped his nails inside the palm of his hands. The nails dug in deep. Berin knew there would be curled divets to contend with later. As he neared the man, he released his fingers from its clenched curl. He tackled the man almost to the ground, then shoved him back through the open door.

“Please do not kill me!’ cried the trader, eyes wide open, his arms shaking like a newborn pup.

“Do you know why I am here?”

“Yes. I was only earning money to feed my own family.”

“That’s my family you sold!” screamed Berin.

“I know, I know! I will forever apologise.”

“Forgiveness is not mine to give. You must lose your head.”

“Berin!” cried Glavino.

“No, sir, please!” the trader begged, dropping to his knees.

“I shall remove your head from its perch,” said Berin, all emotion from his voice washed away.

Glavino grasped Berin’s shoulder and pulled him aside. “You becoming like one of them.”

“Who?”

“The Bacana.”

Berin glared at Glavino.

“It is all he deserves. You would never understand.”

“What do you mean?”

“These men have no respect for mankind. We are all simply commodities to them.”

“If you kill, you lose respect.”

“Guh, Glavino. It is not the same.’ Berin returned to the man, shoving him against the to the floor. ‘Any last words?”

“Wait, if you must kill, use this sword of mine. It is back behind the stables, hidden under the horse trough.”

“Glavino,’ said Berin in a dull tone, ‘go and collect the sword.”

“I will not.”

“You will,’ and Berin’s voice changed, ‘for my family’s sake, please.”

“To kill him?” Glavino whispered.

“If he answers correctly, I might let him go.”

Glavino resigned, shoulders stooping as he stepped outside. He soon returned carrying a mighty sword to Berin away from his body, as though it reeked of stable entrails.

 “Here, Berin. Not touching it again. Let him go. He fears you.”

Berin took hold of the sword.

 “Please, allow me to depart,’ The trader chimed in. ‘I have a family too...”

“My ears heard you the first time.”

Berin held the sword aloft. It was a strange sword; it felt oddly unbalanced in his hand. Yet, it seemed easy to manoeuvre. He swung it around.

“This is a rather heavy sword.”

It was as though the sword had a burden to carry and it was transferring the weight into his arm and into his spirit. In surprise of the strange feel, Berin dropped the sword. It clattered to the ground, in the sunlight easing through the window. As it came to rest, Berin noticed the markings on the sword.

“Ancient writing,” he whispered, half to himself.

Suddenly the memories of his childhood, of stories his mother used to whisper late at night, returned like a flood.

“I know this sword,’ said Berin. ‘It is an ancient sword, fashioned by the great man we know as Aleutian nearly 500 eklars ago.

“I have heard of Aleutian,” said Glavino.

“You may have heard of him from Melchiorre. Rini and Juolo told me it was given to the Hawr tribe to commemorate the birth of Hudaibiya earlier this eklar. This sword is Hudai, the Sword of Peace.

“Peace?”

“Yes. Stories of old tell when the sword is returned to its sheath, peace will come to the world.”

“Are you certain?” quizzed Glavino.

“Yes. Trader,’ turning to the weeping man on the floor, ‘from where did you obtain the sword?”

“I, I, I traded it for the girl, your daughter.”

“From who?”

“I do not know! It was someone from Hawr, a merchant of sorts.”

Glavino piped in, “Berin, will you follow your son, or pursue your wife and daughter?”

His wife was being taken to the north, through the lands of the Alanga.

“I dare not follow my wife through the lands where I am a wanted criminal. The king would kill me instantly.”

More so, it is a place of bad memories.

“On the other hand,’ he continued, ‘my children are being taken south of Akola, I believe.”

“Let me draw you a map in the dirt,” said the trader. The two men crept closer as the trader began drawing on the ground where the light eased through the window. “Here is Akola.”

“Yes.”

“And you said your son is being taken to Kiriath?”

“Yes.”

“That is in the Sonderya, the Lands of the South.”

“There we will find Rini.”

“Kiriath surrounds a mountain range here. The man who bought him is sure to live in the farmland to the south.”

“Fine.”

“Next, Hawr. You must cross the Midran Passage.”

“Fine.”

“I expect by then winter will nearly be set. You must brave the cold of the eastern lands in search of your wife. She is in Zoar, did you say?”

“Yes,” muttered Glavino.

“Where is that?”

The trader pointed to the northernmost part of the land he had drawn.

“There?”

“Where?” Berin leaned in.

The trader swung a closed fist at Berin’s back. It hit the base of his neck. Berin’s face landed in the dirt, his startled breath clearing the makeshift map. Glavino cried out. Berin turned upward to see Glavino kick the trader in the face. The trader flew backwards, his rear thudding against the ground. Berin rose to his knees, rushing at the trader. The trader reached for the sword. It had been lying there.

I forgot about it!

The trader clasped hold of the sword as Berin reached for him. The sword was too heavy for the trader to lift without the use of his legs. As Berin tackled him, the trader released the sword. They tumbled body over body until Berin was underneath the trader. The trader raised his arm and knuckled Berin in the face. Berin returned the favour, though he only caught his neck. The trader, startled, pushed away from Berin.

“He cannot breathe,” cried Glavino, rushing to the trader. The trader tried to push Glavino away, but the lack of oxygen passing through his windpipe took preference to his survival. He stumbled backwards, gasping for any kind of air, before falling to the ground.

“Do something!” cried Glavino. Berin rose from the ground and walked over. The trader looked at him, his eyes wide like prey knowing their hunter is upon them. Berin heard the air exit his body, as the eyes grew stiff.

“No!”

“It was either he or I, Glavino.”

“No! You killed him.”

“I only punched. I just caught him in the neck.”

“You killed him,” he repeated as he rose. Glavino walked over to the sword and easily raised it above his shoulders.

“Glavino, what are you doing?”

“Did not deserve to die.”

“No? The gods realised it was his time.”

“But…”

“But what?”

“You do not believe in the gods.”

“I do. I…I cannot explain it right now. This man sold people as commodity. He earned money by selling them. We do not have slaves in Vergara for a reason: it is criminal.”

“He a criminal?”

“Yes!”

“Oh.”

“You want to kill me? With the Sword of Peace?”

Glavino glanced at the sword, and then dropped it. The thud against the dirt was other-worldly. Berin could not describe it.

“No,” said Glavino.

“Then help me bury this man.”

The two carried him away when night had set in. They dug a hole in the sand, burying him in the soft Akola dirt. Glavino said a silent prayer to the gods. Berin remained silent.

“Let us find Rini’s ship.

The two walked slowly in the night, back to the dock.

How I wish for my family to be by my side.